[ i. an angry red streak ]

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WILLA DEVERAUX HAD ROYALLY and spectacularly fucked up.

With small hands clenched tightly around the rim of her bathroom sink, Willa lifted her gaze from the pink stained porcelain and towards the smudged mirror before her. A sixteen-year-old girl with pale, shallow cheeks and rattling, shell-shocked orbs of sage stared back at her, but it was not the horrified eyes that reflected in the blinding light above her that now held Willa frozen to the tiled floor. No, it was the haphazardly deranged, slightly idiotic, and beautifully reckless smile that, despite the horror of her stupid actions, still lingered proudly on her horribly painted purple lips.

Her shoulders racked with disbelief and unexpected giddy laughter slipped from the tight spaces of her lungs as her knees suddenly buckled and her hold on the sink tightened to prevent herself from falling to the floor in hysterics. "Oh, no," Willa sputtered, still maniacally smiling, blazing emeralds for eyes still full of surprise and glee. "Oh, no. Oh, no!"

Willa rose her left hand, still slick with lavender soap and gleaming with light that danced from the multiple gaudy rings on each finger, and grabbed a clump of semi-wet, knotted, brunette curls.  With bated breath, she lifted a curtain of hair slightly to reveal several thick strands that had become bound together by the weight and stickiness of the pink hair dye. But now, despite what her box dye's instructions had said, the color that stared back at Willa was not a hot pink that she had been promised. Rather it was a brilliant burning red, so hot that it was as if the universe had decided that Willa's natural rage could no longer be contained inside her body. Now, the universe and all its hellish spirits were blessing her with a very visual and very prominent everlasting angry red streak.

"This is amazing," Willa whispered to herself, turning her head to catch a better angle of herself in the mirror. "Oh, Willa, I think this is your greatest mistake yet."

When Willa had set out for the market earlier that morning, she had certainly not been anticipating that she would be exiting only a short while later with nothing more than a flimsy box of pink hair dye. She had initially been sent by her mother to gather some snacks for the baby, but Willa had clearly forgotten—or so she would say when she returned back home—while self-consciously on the chase for her newest look. Afterwards, Willa was quite honest when she admitted to herself that she did not regret forgoing her mother's grocery list. Besides, her baby sister had more snacks in her old diaper bag than she was certain some of the Outer Banks residents had in their entire houses.

"They're going to kill you."

Willa's startled eyes shifted in the mirror at the newfound voice, no longer looking to the red strip of deadened hair, but now rather to the tiny, lively girl that stood behind her in the narrow bathroom doorway.  Lex Deveraux, with all her pointed excellence and silent judgement, had her skinny arms crossed tightly over her small chest and her round face tilted carefully to the side, watching her older sister closely.  For a long moment, Willa only stared back at her unwanted shadow, a bitter callousness pulling at the narrow threads that made up her fragile bomb of a human heart.

"It's a bit bright now, but give it a month," Willa finally responded, still looking in the mirror. "By the time school comes around it'll look great."

"Or it'll be cut out," Lex argued, matter-of-fact. "You really think mom will allow that for school pictures?"

The oldest Deveraux daughter certainly knew that her mother would not tolerate this style choice, but that was precisely why she had done it.  This was the first time Willa had attempted such a bold and semi-permanent act of rebellion—the physical altering her appearance—but it was surely far from the last.  That was why, for today, Willa had opted for a tiny change, a mere dip in the water of this newfound dangerous territory.  Willa knew better than to try bleaching her entire head—that would be for another day.  But now?  Baby steps towards chaos were acceptable if they still led to an eventual ruin. Only a few strands now bleeding red atop Willa's head, but it would surely still be enough for her mother to see red.

Willa abruptly shook her head and exhaled a quiet sigh through her nose.  Lex had taken a few steps back from the threshold and now stood idly in the attached bedroom, looking at something that Willa could not see.  "What did I say about being in my room?" She glowered.

Lex rolled her eyes, not missing a beat as she, too, looked back to the clouded mirror.  In only her twelve years of life, she still held more bite than the Deveraux matriarch ever had.  "Oh, relax. What you do or not choose to do with your hair is no interest of mine," She insisted. "What I do care about, though, is how you're treating my sink."

"It's not yours yet.  Now, get out."

Silence engulfed the small void of space between the Deveraux sisters, an unrelenting weight pressing down on both of their shoulders.  As the days passed, the weights in their hearts should have lessened, they should have become easier to bare, but there was no acceptance to be found in the approaching future that held more terror and unknown than they would like to acknowledge.  In less than a year, times would be changing within the Deveraux household.  Currents would shift, waves would break, and the calm in the eye of the storm would be no more.  In less than a year, the fragile peace, the frail line that held an entire family composed from nothing but differences together, would be lost.  For in less than a year, the oldest Deveraux child would be gone from the Outer Banks—gone to begin his own life far, far away from the sandy beaches of hate, ignorance, and overbearing richness.

Lucky him.

Willa was unsure how long she remained trapped in her own head, lost in the memories of her older brother and his everlasting warm presence in her life, before she finally looked back up into the cold, isolated bathroom mirror and found that her little sister no longer stood behind her.  A breath she had not realized she had been holding escaped from her glossy lips in a shuddering gasp, and she finally turned on the water to begin cleaning up the pink mess that stained the inside of her sink. 

For several minutes, Willa pumped endless amounts of soap down the drain and seemingly rubbed her fingertips raw in her desperation to please and erase her mark, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, tints of unwanted color remained in an otherwise completely white complexion.  Finally, when Willa accepted that the bleeding streaks of pink smudge were permanent, she gave up.  Stains did not concern her nearly as much as it might concern her sister, or her mother, or practically anyone else in her meticulous family.

Turning off the bathroom light and returning to the peace and quiet of her own bedroom, Willa crossed over to her bed and lowered herself down onto the edge of the soft mattress.  Her leather back journal laid carelessly atop the plum-colored duvet, her silver fountain pen resting idly nearby, waiting to be picked back up from where she had abandoned it on her sudden urge to change her hair.  On the corner of the left page, Willa could barely see the makings of her list of color options; hot pink, lime green, neon orange, and ghost white.  When standing in the aisle in the market, Willa had nearly gone for the white box of dye in the moment, but the brief fear of looking like her childhood villainous nightmare, Cruella de Vil, sent her spiraling towards a hot pink disaster instead.  And now, five hours later, ironically, she had neither of those colors on her messy, knotted head.

"Nice hair."

Willa heard the soft rapping of knuckles on her bedroom door and she lifted her head to see her younger brother, Cruz, leaning against the archway.  Unlike Lex, his body was much more relaxed, more open to an approach, with his arms hanging loosely at his sides and his eyes as crystal clear as the sea beyond their back door.  Aside from the baby, he was the open book of the Deveraux children, supposedly the easiest to read.  The least likely to cause any trouble.

Or so the Daveraux parents thought.  In truth, Cruz was probably as bad as Willa. He was simply better at getting away with delinquent activities, flying under the radar like he had always been prone to do since the surprise arrivals of Lex and Rayne to the family.  Like his older sister, Cruz, too, had his own stash of munchies and smokes to keep himself content during the nights when the giant, pristine mansion of a home was too quiet, and his thoughts were too loud.  Neither sibling bothered with hiding alcohol in their bedside tables.  It was so much easier to just take from their parents unlocked liquor cabinet instead.

Of the many Deveraux children, Cruz and Willa had crafted a bond like no other.  They were as thick as thieves.  That was why, amongst any of the siblings to ever try and pry their way into her isolated bedroom, at the sight of Cruz, Willa merely smiled.  "Is it really that noticeable?" She asked her younger brother.

Cruz tilted his head to the side.  "From here?  Yeah," He confirmed.  "Were you going for bright red?"

"No," Willa admitted, scrunching her nose.  "Hot pink."

Cruz chuckled softly, finding it very unsurprising that such a mishap would happen to his sister.  Willa's life tended to revolve around Murphy's Law.  Anything that could go wrong in her life would go wrong.  It had been that way ever since she was born, and she had long since accepted that.  As long as she had time to prepare for her doomsday, she would take it by storm, and walk courageously into the flames.  And, technically, she had walked into flames once—during a party gone wrong, where she had been disastrously intoxicated and believed she could walk on fire.  An annoying pogue nickname was born for Willa Deveraux from that night.  One that she would rather not go into detail about, even if the term itself would never let her forget it.

"Well, then I'm glad it went wrong," Cruz replied sincerely.  "I'm sure it looks better red, anyways."

Willa subconsciously lifted her left hand back to the few delicately dyed strands.  "Thanks," She said, frowning and smiling all at once.  "I don't understand how it went wrong, though.  I kept the dye in as long as the box said to."

"That had nothing to do with the time," Cruz informed her, finally daring to step into the bedroom.  "It's 'cause the water's cold.  The hurricane fucked up the water heater downstairs.  Hudson's been trying to get it fixed all day."

Hurricane Agatha, the storm to end all summer storms.  Hopefully.  It was a given in the Outer Banks that if one ugly stormed followed, then an even worse storm had to pass before the sun could rightfully shine through for the rest of the warm season.  So far, the town of promised paradise had only encountered one storm and the skies outside seemed to warn that the worst had not yet subsided.  Willa was only slightly concerned of the impending weather.  This was not the first hurricane she had lived through, nor would it be her last.  For at least two more years she was stuck with humid heat, crackling lightning, monstrous thunder, sheets of endless rain and, of course, hurricanes.

And also—lest she always be reminded by her dear mother—that for at least two more years, she was stuck through the idle periods of hurricane aftermath.  Where there was no electricity—but thank God for generators—and no cell phone service—something that Willa could, thankfully, live without for the time being.

"That would have been good information to know," Willa finally said. She slowly pushed herself back further onto the bed and pulled her bare legs tighter into her chest, covering them with her baggy sweatshirt. "So, what are you doing in here?" She questioned.  "Finally get away from mom?"

Cruz scoffed, as if Willa had told him a joke.  "I haven't talked to mom all day," He retorted.  He then glanced over his shoulder and peeked out into the open hallway, ensuring that no wandering siblings accidentally overheard him.  Then he quickly closed Willa's bedroom door and crossed over to sit in a desk chair.  "I was actually seeing if you wanted to go to a party."

Willa's stomach dropped without warning, excitement and dread forming into deadly butterflies inside of her as her eyes perked with interest.  "Where?" 

That was always Willa's first inquiry of a party.  Parties were common in the Outer Banks, but many of the places they took place at were not so enjoyable.  Willa absolutely hated house parties—the kook kind of parties that relied more on hard addicting drugs mixed with flashing lights to carry a crowd through the night.  She had only been to a few of those parties, but she had more than her fair share of bad experiences, which is why she dreaded ever going back.  What Willa liked more were the kickbacks, the parties that did not feel so much like parties—the parties that always took place outdoors, whether they be deep in the middle of a woodsy swamp or on the edge of the unpopular beach area.  The pogues threw those kinds of parties—from dusk til dawn, teenagers danced beneath the stars, bodies tingling from warm booze and marijuana. 

To watch the sun rise and feel the waves crash over her bare feet as she sipped her way into a buzz that did not end until she had finally gone home and touched her head to the pillow was Willa's kind of party.  And besides, everyone knew that beach parties made it easier to run from the police.

Not that Willa Deveraux knew that from personal experience or anything.

"The Boneyard," Cruz answered, grinning.  With only two words, he knew he had sold his sister on the idea and she was immediately up and disappearing into her walk-in closet to change.  "JJ and John B. got a keg."

From within the closet, Willa called out, "They're throwing the party?"

Still sitting at the desk, Cruz frowned.  "You sound surprised?"

"Well, they usually crash the parties," Willa replied, also having her fair share of encounters where she had witnessed the rambunctious duo doing just that.  "Or at least JJ does.  And wherever JJ is, John B. and his crew aren't far behind."

"Then you know it's going to be a great party," Cruz challenged.

"When does it start?"

"Now."

A moment later, Willa returned from the large closet with her heavily jeweled hands on her slim hips.  Her sage eyes were narrowed, and her repainted purple glossed lips were pursed into a pout.  "Thanks for the warning," She huffed as she tied a navy-blue coat around her waist.  Rather than the previous baggy sweatshirt and pajama shorts, Willa now wore a black-and-white polka dot tube top and ripped jeans that tattered out near the middle of her calves.  To both her relief and annoyance, even with night steadily approaching, it was still more than humid enough outside that Willa did not have to worry about getting cold.  And, by any chance she did wind up in the water, she still had a blazing fire and beer to warm her back up.

"All right, you go get your stuff and I'll go downstairs to the cabinet," Willa informed.  "We'll meet outside."

Cruz nodded in understanding and hastily slipped out into the hall and over to his own private bedroom.  After a last look at herself in the bathroom mirror, seeing her angry streak of red beam right back at her in the bright overhead light, Willa finally left her bedroom and went downstairs to the living room at the opposite end of the house.  She did not bother being quiet, letting her flip flops slap loudly against the hardwood floor with each quick step she took.  With such a large house, Willa rarely had to worry about running into another member in her family unless she was actively seeking them out.  Which she very rarely did nowadays—unless it was Hudson or Cruz, of course.

Upon entering the dining room, Willa easily and carelessly grabbed two medium sized bottles of alcohol from the large liquor cabinet that lined the far wall of the spacious room—one filled with whiskey and one filled with vodka—and slipped them each into one of her back pockets.  Without taking a single sip of each, Willa could already feel the familiar tasty burn in her chest, and she had to contain herself from exploding into a ball of excitement then and there in the middle of the quiet Deveraux family home.

"Don't worry, mom.  Don't worry, dad," Willa mocked as she walked towards the glass front door.  "I'll be back by midnight," She promised, all the while she slipped outside into the dark.

But little did Willa know then that she would not be home by midnight that night.  Nor did she know that her explosive existence was about to be corrupted all over again, and just as that damned Murphy's Law had predicted from the moment of her first, shrieking breath, all that could possibly go wrong would go wrong.

Her time at the Boneyard would be no exception to disaster and despair.  Surely everything about that fateful night would go wrong.  And in the aftermath of a destined catastrophe, nothing for Willa Deveraux would be the same ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~

wowowow here we goooooo

first of all, welcome!

and second of all, i most definitely should not be writing this considering i have more that enough stories on my plate, but then my girl willa came to be and she hasn't left my mind since. god i love her and her unpredictably and her not even knowing where she belongs or how her life is meant to work. and i mean can you blame her? she's a kook who is very much trying not to live like a kook.

we'll obviously see more of this as time goes on. all we really get from this chapter is a teenage girl who is going off the deep end when it comes to rebelling, who has some mommy issues, and some sibling issues, and i'm honestly all here for all the angst. she's got a lot of anger that's been building up from a lot of things and slowly but surely we'll begin to dive into them. but like willa, odds are we won't have any idea what's going on until she wants to know what's going on. because that's willa. she's crazy and unpredictable and just wants to cause trouble and thrive in chaos and we are going to love her for it!! but if you don't love her all the time, that's totally okay. she's going to be kind of entitled, you'll probably find yourself wondering "why is she taking all this for granted and yada yada" but like, a girl is not happy with her life. she doesn't like things being handed to her on a silver platter.

i would also just like to point out before anyone tries to ask, that I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA WHO WILLA'S LOVE INTEREST IS GOING TO BE. when i watched this show, i literally fell in love with the entire pogue group and odds are willa's going to fall in love with them all too. so i'm not making any commitments to her relationship. besides, she's sixteen. she's going to fall in love a lot. so at points she might have a thing with john b., a thing with jj, a thing with pope, and a thing with kiara, because she's finally getting to explore parts of herself that have been silenced for so long. now that's not to say that you can't strictly ship and hope that willa ends up with one person. i encourage you to find a ship and fight for it!! because you just never know. it might happen. and that's what i'm so excited for with this story. i have so much freedom and flexibility as a writer through willa, so i hope you all don't get mad because i can't tell you who the love interest. when you find out, i'll be finding out right alongside y'all. we're in this together!

wow i'm so sorry i keep ranting on this author's note. let me just wrap this up by saying thank you for giving this story a chance! i'm going to need to rewatch the show a couple times to decide what i fully want to do, but i hope you enjoy the ride! and lastly, what did y'all think of this first chapter? first thoughts on willa?? on her siblings?? the other characters?? i'd love to hear what your thoughts are and what you'd like to see next! so please, leave some votes and comments because your girl would really appreciate it! thanks for reading! and i hope y'all are having a lovely day or night.

stay safe and stay well.

--B.